Love is a Fire
by RavenStyx
Summary: It burns down everything, everything you think, it burns down everything you say, (Rated M for violence, sexual content, BDSM, substance use)


_Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima._

 ** _Important Warnings_** **:** Violence, sexual content (the most graphic I've been in awhile,) BDSM, drug use. Angst generally. Rated **M**. Please adhere to warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please, please, please don't read.

 _Mirajens:_ this did not turn out the way I expected. Nor the way you expected, I suspect. Alas, it is still _pour vous_. _Bon appetit._

 ** _Love is a Fire_**

* * *

Love is a fire, it burns down all that it sees, burns down everything, everything you think, it burns down everything you say.

Laxus thinks this as he pulls the trigger on an old Colt Anaconda. The resounding and singular _bang_ fills the pool house. His target falls back and water splashes against the side of the pool and slicks the tiled floor. He feels almost no satisfaction in this kill. It's Laxus' first since he was released from prison after a stint for accessory to murder. He remembers how before the cuffs locked on his wrists, Freed rushed to the guild where he took his gun and told the cops it was his. He remembers how the man insisted that the murder was unplanned but that he didn't regret killing the man that put a bullet in old Makarov Dreyar. Precht Gaebolg. He'd bled and bled and bled. And screamed. Stomach wounds were painful and slow-killing.

Laxus' only lament is that when the police asked for his statement, he corroborated Freed's story. It still earned him five years in prison for not coming forward.

He puts his gun away and picks up the bullet casings, more careful of evidence now. Prison makes a person paranoid. His knuckles had been broken more than once and he has no interest in returning to the drab sausage cage to see how much _more_ abuse they can withstand. His black leather gloves serve two purposes: to hide the mangled mess of scar tissue his hands have become and to keep his fingerprints off absolutely everything. His hands are sweaty; it's summer and it's warm. Flexing his fingers allows for some air movement to come into the confining space; it's not nearly enough but it'll have to do.

He turns from the man he's been hankering to kill and starts his journey back to the mercenary guild Fairy Tail, known for its ability to make problems… disappear. He thought he wouldn't get his old job back when he was released but Gildarts had been waiting for him at the prison gates, Mira at his side. The way she'd been standing so close to the old man made Laxus think he'd been fucking her while he was away. He's never gotten the courage to ask her and she's never said. He let it go because that night, she'd climbed into his bed and returned there every night since.

Love is certainly a fire.

The pool house door slams closed behind him. Laxus isn't too worried, Warrod, though rich and a Council member, appreciates his privacy above all else. Aside from his guards, there isn't anyone here to miss him. That will come tomorrow when he misses his council meeting and the police find him. Then the media will start speculating. Laxus wonders if they'll come asking him questions first. Was Warrod guilty like Precht was? He doesn't think so. But they were known associates and the affiliation he finds unacceptable.

He'll burn down everything.

Though he's disconnected the security camera, as he leaves the mansion behind, he stops by the guard's station and takes the SD card. He's careful to avoid stepping in the guard's blood. That kill didn't bring him any satisfaction, either. This used to bring him more fulfillment.

The car he used to drive here isn't his own. He paid some vagrant on the street to pick it up out of a scrapyard for cash. It's filthy and runs like a piece of shit, but it _runs._ He can't go over sixty. That's alright. The only people that drive fast are those with nothing to lose or those that are guilty. Laxus plays at being neither.

He takes the car to a picnic spot off the highway where he's hidden a tank of gasoline under a tarp in the bush. Last year's leaves crinkle when he brushes the camouflage away. It takes only minutes to douse the car. Above on the highway, transports whirl past, uncaring that it's deer season. Laxus keeps his ear out for any late-night travellers pulling over for a rest. None does so none have to die. He doesn't want the extra work of having to cover up an unplanned murder.

He lights a whole book of matches and throws it on the front seat. Fire catches. It takes the evidence and burns it from this world. The only one to see is the moon, the highway is quiet for now. Laxus addresses the forest. His own car, a green '71 Chevelle, is waiting for him at the end of the five-kilometer trail. He sets out, trusting the flames to take everything.

* * *

Laxus isn't expecting Mira to be awake when he enters his room but there she is, sitting on his bed with her phone in hand. She's wearing the same dress she was earlier that day, some pink and yellow thing that's brighter and sunnier than she actually is. She looks up and her eyes are worried. "They just found Councillor Warrod."

 _Already?_ That was faster than he expected. Laxus starts pulling off his gloves. The cold air feels _good_ on his skin.

"You were careful?"

"Yeah, Mira."

"Because I can't stand it if you go away again."

He almost asks her if she's sure about that. If she's not just itching to go climb back on Gildarts' dick and forget he'd ever come back into her life. The words get bunged up. "I'm not going anywhere."

She rises and comes to him. Her hands brush back his hair and linger on the scar over his eye. Her thumb brushes his bottom lip. "You say that but you've been far away."

He takes her by the wrists and starts working out of her grasp. "I'm alright."

"Laxus." She says his name shortly in a way that brings him to a halt. He searches her eyes, unable to help himself. "You haven't been the same since you came back."

"I was in _prison,_ Mira. Of course, I'm not the same." This is the first time Mira's pressed him _since_ going away and he's not sure how he feels about it.

She brushes her fingers over his gnarled knuckles. "I know it was hard. But it's not just that. Tell me what's been bothering you."

Laxus thinks he's going to tell her the same _forget it, I'm fine,_ he's been for days _,_ but instead when his mouth comes open he blurts, "Were you fucking him? Gildarts."

Mira is a great many things. But a liar? Not her. "Sometimes."

That hurts worse than Laxus is expecting. All the air leaves his lungs and he doesn't think he can draw it in again.

Mira says, "I don't love him."

He expects her words to roll off him but they _stick._ Mira has a power. It's the kind of power that makes him stupid. She's cutting and she's blunt and he knows _Liar_ isn't a chair she sits in.

"You, though…" Her arms loop around his throat. "I thought I'd stop when you went to prison."

"And?" He wants to hear her say it.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." She runs her hands over his arms and finds his knuckles again. She's been obsessed with them and with all of his new scars. She likes the roughness. Laxus knew that _before_ he was put away; it's something that's grown, though. An unhealthy obsession. He likes the way she likes it. "I love you."

"I don't know if I believe you." He says it just to see the spark come to her eye and isn't disappointed.

Mira smiles. "Go shower. When you come back, I'll show you."

He's already hard. It's a state that doesn't change. In the shower, he thinks of the _last_ time she looked at him like that and jerks off, looking for relief and looking to deny her. It doesn't matter; he stays hard.

Laxus doesn't bother to dress, a towel rests on his hips and that's it.

Back in his room again, Mira's turned the lights off. Now there are only candles to light his way over the light wooden floor. He sees her standing at the edge of the bed, setting the last wick aflame ( _love is a fire_ ). She's left the pink and yellow sundress behind and has squeezed into something tighter, something that shines in the candlelight. He loves her in leather. And he hates it, too. He's always sore the next day but it's a pain that he relishes.

She looks up and her hair slides back so he can see that her outfit is new. The leather cradles her throat and her breasts but bares them and the two barbells stabbed through her rose-pink nipples, comes down her middle and between her legs and bares that, too. He decides that he likes this one better. The last leather thing she'd bought he had to wait patiently for her to untie the back and roll it off her body before he could have her.

Her teeth reveal themselves as she takes him in. Her gaze gets caught on his chest, on his tattoo, and on his hips where the towel has both loosened and lifted.

"This is how you show me you love me?"

"I thought you liked it."

"I thought I hated it," he muttered.

"Sometimes, love and hate are the same."

Sometimes.

She lifts her hand and beckons him forward with nails that are painted black. She is the flame; he is the stupid moth (love is). He allows her to strip him of his towel and sit him down. When she lifts a mirror with two neatly organized lines, he snorts them both back with a dollar bill she offers, leaving her nothing. Because love

burns down everything.

Everything you think

Burns down

(his head is swimming)

Everything you say.

"I love you."

"Show me," Laxus hears himself say.

Mira opens the nightstand beside the bed and takes out a length of rope. Laxus eyes it, less wary than he thinks he _should_ be. She's an expert at tying knots. His wrists are bound. She guides him back to the pillows and straddles him to make the final knot. She takes his thumb into her mouth and sucks before coming back down and capturing his lips with hers. While she kisses him, her hands are busy finding a blindfold from her drawer of tricks. Laxus moves his head to make things harder, breaking their kiss, and her palm claps across his face. He stills. She takes his eyesight away. He can hear her breathing heavier and feel her skin get warm. Between her legs is wet, he can feel that, too, sliding over his body. It is the worst tease. Mira knows it, too.

She goes back to kissing him. She's gentle. And then she's rough, biting until he gasps. And then she moves along, doing the same to his neck and his chest and his stomach, leaving her teeth marks. She hovers over his cock and tells him again, "I love you."

He doesn't believe her and won't until she takes him into her mouth. He tells her as much and her laughter peals. For his audacity, she produces a thin leather whip from the same drawer that housed the rope and smacks him hard with it. The pain is both bitter and sweet. He bows into her. She smacks him again.

"Don't move."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Mistress." Laxus visualizes her mouth curling.

Her voice is fevered when she says, "Tell me you love me."

"No." His denial makes her furious. After all, she is supposed to have the control. He's hit again, his chest stinging, and Laxus isn't at all sorry for it.

"You will," she whispers in his ear. Her voice takes him over; it's the drugs. It's Mira. _love is a fire._ He is burning. And he's not. It takes her body pressing against his lips for Laxus to realize that Mira's turned herself around. Her hips lower and he allows her to use his tongue, though he does nothing to make it easier for her. She's putting forward the effort, grinding. Laxus loses himself again as Mira grabs his testicles and squeezes until he gasps. She loosens her hold only marginally. Just enough to smack him again, this time in that sensitive area to make him wheeze.

"Tell me you love me."

He can't possibly, not with her body pressing down on him. She knows this and gets mad anyway. She smacks him again. Laxus, spiraling, pulls on the headboard. He can't grab her; he can't speak; he thinks he's never been harder. He arches his hips and brushes against her open mouth; she doesn't scold him because she's coming. She presses her cheek into his shaft and moans. He can feel that sound travelling all throughout his body. It's been so long, so, so long since they've done this. He doesn't want to come but he does anyway, getting it on her cheek and in her hair and over her front, too. Mira gives a shocked huff and adjusts so she's no longer pressing into his mouth.

"You weren't supposed to come," she tells him as she climbs down his body.

"Sorry." Not _that_ sorry. Laxus wishes more than anything that he can see her; he _likes_ coming on her.

"You're not," Mira says. "Not yet. But you will be."

Laxus expects pain but instead gets pleasure. Much, much too intense pleasure as she lowers herself down on his sensitive cock and starts to bounce. Her fingernails dig into his thighs; it hurts in the best way. Laxus can barely pay attention to it, focusing on feeling his body move past _too sensitive_ and back into the realms of _holy fuck_. Mira will be mad when she realizes but he wants to see her so he awkwardly uses his bicep to push the blindfold up. It's not easy and it's not pretty; he gives up when only one eye is free.

Candlelight illuminates her hair; it's a storm of snow; her back is slicked in sweat. Her moans are loud and without inhibition. One hand is between her legs, the other is pinching and grasping at her breasts. She comes again, going rigid and sitting up straight.

Laxus is back to being harder than stone. Mira always has that effect on him. He wants to spill in her but can't yet. She rocks twice more and then gets off of him. When she turns back and sees what he's done with the blindfold, her expression goes through several metamorphoses, pleasure, anger, excitement.

She likes inflicting pain. And he likes it inflicted upon him. She slaps him again and tells him he's bad. Despite her proclamation, she tears the blindfold off completely. Laxus thinks he's spinning harder than before. He's shaking and it's Mira, it's the drug, it's anticipation as she grabs a mostly-melted candle off the nightstand and tips it so wax dribbles out slowly. Each spot that hits his skin makes Laxus suck in a breath. Mira gets off him and kneels at his side to continue her progress. Laxus is more sensitive than ever when she reaches his hips and dribbles all the way to the base of his cock. He expects her to be crueler. Then again, maybe stopping there _is_ the cruelest she can be.

"Tell me you love me."

( _It's a fire.)_

"No."

The candle goes back on the nightstand and Mira is back to straddling him, this time facing forward. She brings her breasts to his mouth for his attention. He gives it to her, not quite able to resist. Her nipple rings taste like metal, her skin like sweat. He sucks and she moans. Her hips are inching lower so he lets her go.

He misses sliding into her the first time. Mira adjusts and takes him deep. Her hands encircle his throat. "Tell me you love me."

He doesn't to make her squeeze tighter. His air restricts but not enough to make him cough. She's rough but never _too_ rough.

"Tell me."

 _Love is a fire_ and he's never loved anyone more.

"Tell me, Laxus."

 _It burns down everything it sees_. It takes everything.

Everything you think.

Burns down

Everything you say.

"I love you."

* * *

 **A/N** : So really, SleeplessComplication is a dump for my artsy you-have-to-have-a-taste-for-it fuckery.

Don't do drugs. Sorry it's so graphic. Also, I never write in this tense so sorry about any errors.

My _Love is a fire_ comes from Marilyn Manson's _Just a car crash away._


End file.
